


The End of October

by coffeeandfeathers



Category: Pushing Daisies
Genre: Alcohol, Bingeing, Comfort Eating, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Ned does not deal with Halloween well, Overeating, also Ned gets wasted on a type of Kahlua I don't think exists, mention of weight gain, tummy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:08:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandfeathers/pseuds/coffeeandfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned doesn't do well with Halloween and once the day rolls around, he can't take it anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of October

October was drawing to a close and Chuck started to worry. It had been almost a year since her and Ned’s first Halloween, and in the last week he’d grown tense and quiet, insisting that he was fine even as he pounded dough into pulp. The season was heavy with the thick scent of leaves and fire and smoky pumpkin pies, but all Chuck smelled was resentment and cold coffee leftover from cups Ned kept on his desk to keep him awake. He didn’t sleep much before Halloween, ostensibly due to the uptick in business, but Chuck knew better than to take his words at face value. He hurt, and when he hurt, she hurt by proxy.

            “Don’t be silly. No one gets triggered by Halloween,” he told her one evening, elbow deep in lard, and Chuck dropped the topic until the day itself.

            “You okay today?” she asked from the kitchen table that morning, and Ned didn’t even look up from his coffee.

            “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”  
            “I found a pile of candy wrappers next to your side of the bed.”

            “Tis the season,” he offered in lieu of an explanation, but Chuck refused to drop the subject.

            “You binge eat when you’re upset.”

            “A couple candy bars constitutes binge eating? I didn’t know you wanted me to watch myself so much.” Chuck drew back at the ice in his voice.

            “You know I don’t care about that. I just want to know that you’re all right.”

            “I’m fine,” he snapped. “I’m always fine.”

            “Okay, okay.” He’d never spoken to her with such severity and she knew when it was time to back down. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

            “I don’t!” Ned slammed down his mug so hard hot coffee splashed onto his shaking hands. He cursed and lunged for the sink, where he rinsed the burn away. “Just leave me alone.”

            “Ned…”

            “Please.” When he turned toward her, Chuck pretended she didn’t see the color rising in his cheeks or his eyes filling with tears. “Please. Just… I don’t wanna talk about it.”

            Chuck paused. “Okay.”

            “I’m going downstairs. It’s gonna be a busy day.” Ned made for the door before she could retract her answer, and Chuck was left with the ringing slam of the door as it closed behind him.

            Ned stalked around the kitchen as if everything in it had done him a great personal wrong. Nothing Chuck said could remove the sour feeling in his stomach as he served smiling parents and children, all of whom seemed overly eager to make small talk about the holiday. Maybe it was just his imagination, but every kid looked like one of his brothers, every parent his father before he took in their face. He wanted to spit or break every dish in the place in a rage. He wanted Digby.

            “I’m going upstairs for lunch. Do you want me to make you a sandwich?” Chuck asked when noon rolled around. Ned shook his head.

            “Not hungry.”

            “You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

            “I’m not hungry.” He tightened his apron strings until they cut into his stomach. Before, when he was still starting out, his waist was so small he’d been able to wrap them around twice, but now even the thought left angry red marks on his belly. The last thing he needed today was something to eat.

            “Are you sure?”

            “Chuck…” He rounded on her, but stopped when her eyes widened in fear.

            “Okay, okay,” she said, taking a step back, and Ned felt like pulling his apron strings so tight they bisected him. He imagined bleeding out on the kitchen floor in two pieces. Maybe then Chuck would be able to touch him.

            “I’m… I’m sorry.” He tried to say, but she’d already whisked out of the Pie Hole and up the stairs.

            The rest of the day didn’t go much better. Emerson came in to grab a bite before heading back to his office, and in his usual way didn’t want to pry into Ned’s personal affairs unless it would interfere with their partnership. Ned didn’t feel much like talking anyway, and the hunger pains rising in him were only making him lightheaded. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore.

            “Olive? Could you watch the store for me? I’m not feeling well.”

            Olive, who was waving to Randy Mann as he left his booth, looked over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

            “Headache,” he lied, and made for the stairs before she or Chuck could press further.

            Digby was watching the Discovery Channel once Ned made his way into the apartment. Chuck liked to leave the TV on for him so that he wouldn’t get lonely, and she’d decided that nature programs were somehow his favorite. The dog did seem invested in the documentary on gazelles, but he sprang up to greet Ned when he opened the door.

            “Mind if I turn this off?” Ned asked before realizing that Digby, in fact, had no idea what he was saying and probably did not mind in the slightest. Without the TV to fill the silence, Ned was left alone with his own thoughts.

            “Might as well eat something,” Ned said aloud to himself before padding into the kitchen. His stomach rumbled uncomfortably in response when his eyes fell on the bags of Halloween candy Chuck had bought for the trick or treaters earlier that week.

            “No,” Ned said firmly, rubbing his stomach to quiet it. “That isn’t for you. You’d just make yourself sick anyway.”

            He rummaged around in the fridge, but the only thing that caught his eye was an almost full bottle of white Russian Kahlua. Drinking probably wouldn’t be the smartest idea, especially on an empty stomach, but Ned was tired and hurting and not exactly operating on full mental capacity, so he grabbed the bottle and brought it with him to the couch.

            The first few swallows went down like acid, but after that things felt a little less sharp. The sweet liquor felt warm in his chest, and before he knew it, he’d gotten up and returned to the kitchen.

            “Just one,” he told himself, swaying slightly as he opened the bag of fun size Snickers Chuck had bought. “Just one.”

            One turned into two, then three, then five, until Ned gave in and took the bag into the living room with him. There was still another bag of Reese cups and a bunch of full size Hershey bars for the kids and Snickers were his favorite anyway. The chocolate started to make his mouth dry, so Ned punctuated each bite with a gulp of Kahlua. He wasn’t small, but the combination of his empty stomach and how quickly he drank left his head spinning. Before he knew it, he reached into the bag for another candy bar and found that it was empty. His hand then drifted to his stomach, which was rumbling under his shirt. It felt good to eat, to just chew and swallow until he felt nothing but the tightness in his belly. Ned pinched his warm skin, then rubbed his hands under his shirt. His stomach was distended, but only a little. There was plenty more room in there.

            The Reese cups went next, then more Kaluha, until the comfortable feeling in his stomach turned sour. On the night of that fateful Halloween a little less than twenty years ago, he’d returned to the Longboro School for Boys only to stuff himself with sweets to the point of illness, then spent the next day curled up in the infirmary clutching a hot water bottle against his cramping stomach. It hadn’t really been a night he wanted to remember.

            He couldn’t help himself. Once the Reeses were gone, he wanted more, even as his stomach twisted in protest. There were barely any kids in the apartment complex anyway. They wouldn’t miss much.

            The chocolate went down a little rougher now, and the bottle was empty before Ned got through two of the Hershey bars. He burped after a last long swallow, tasting chocolate, before cramming the last of the candy into his mouth. He was licking his fingers, too drunk to hate himself, when someone’s key clicked into the lock at the front door.

            “Shit!” He hissed, scrambling to gather the wrappers strewn across the couch and coffee table. He crammed them into his pockets, and when they were full, in between the couch cushions.

            “Ned?” Chuck called, and his heart fell into his stomach. She’d notice that the bags were gone and he didn’t want her to worry.

            “Ned, are you here? Olive said you weren’t feeling well.”

            He opened his mouth to shout back, but a painful burp rose in his throat instead and he pressed his lips together to avoid getting sick.

            “Ned?” Chuck poked her head into the living room before he could force down the discomfort rising in his chest. “Are you okay?”

            He nodded violently, trying to focus on Chuck’s face.

            “You’re green. Is everything okay?” She sat down next to him on the couch.

            “I’m fine,” he said, and she drew back at the smell of his breath.

            “Have you been drinking?” her eyes fell on the bottle of Kahlua on the floor, then the orange wrappers stuffed in between the couch cushions. “Oh, Ned.”

            “I’m sorry.” The room swam, but he couldn’t tell if it was from drinking too much or the tears that were starting to form in the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

            “Ned…” Chuck’s hand was warm against his knee, stroking his leg over his jeans. “You should have gotten me.”

            “I couldn’t.” He burped, tasting chocolate and Kahlua and bile.

            “Why not?” Chuck rose from the couch and grabbed the box of plastic gloves they kept in a basket by the TV. She removed a pair and slipped them on.

            “Embarrassed.” Ned curled in on himself, tucking his knees under his chin to hide his bloated belly.

            “It’s perfectly normal that you’re upset. This is a hard time for you,” Chuck said, returning to the couch and stroking one hand through his hair. The touch was so gentle, so kind, that Ned buried his face in his knees so she wouldn’t see him cry.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “You have nothing to be sorry about.” Her hand travelled to his cheek, her thumb tracing the lines of his cheekbone and jaw. “You couldn’t handle it. You had to cope.”

            “I’m weak.” His shoulders shook and it was getting harder to swallow the lump in his throat.

            “You’re not weak.” He could smell her, all warm and sweet from the pies downstairs. “You’re just a person. It isn’t healthy to be so hard on yourself. You’re a good person who didn’t deserve what happened to him. You deserve to be happy.”

            “No” was the last thing he managed to force out before the floodgates opened and anything else he had to say was lost in a torrent of harsh, ugly sobs.

            “Oh, Ned.” Chuck stroked his hair, whispering comfort as she pulled candy wrappers from his pockets. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

            He cried until he felt his ribs would break, until the chocolate curdling in his stomach became too sour and he had to stop for fear of vomiting all over Chuck.

            “You okay?” she asked, her hands moving to his back, and he shook his head and worked his fingers into his belly.

            “Oh! I have gloves on already, do you want me to help?”

            Ned nodded helplessly, covering his mouth as another burp rose in his throat.

            “Lie back. I’ll be right in the kitchen,” she said, then disappeared only to peek around the corner a moment later with a glass of water.

            “I’ve put some water on for tea and for a hot water bottle for your stomach,” she said, settling down on the couch. “And for now…” she pulled up his tshirt and ran her thumbs over his aching belly, massaging gently until he relaxed.

            “That feels good, huh?” Chuck asked, and Ned nodded as the ache started to dissipate under her fingers.

            “You’re getting good at this,” he said, and she rolled his shirt down and kissed his stomach.

            “I wouldn’t have to do it if you’d stop stuffing yourself.”

            “But you like that.” Crying fit over, Ned was starting to feel a little more like himself, but the Kahlua still hung around his brain. “You like it when I’m full.”

            “But not when you hurt yourself doing it. I like seeing you satiated and comfortable, not sick.”

            “I’m okay,” he started, but an uncomfortable groan rolled up from his stomach and Chuck returned her hands to the spot.

            “That didn’t sound very nice,” she said, pressing her ear to his abdomen. “Your stomach is making all kinds of strange noises. How much candy did you eat?”

            “All of it,” Ned slurred. “And the Kahlua.”

            “Guess we’ll be giving kids cup pies tonight, huh?” Chuck got up to tend to the shrieking kettle and returned with a cup smelling of ginger and a hot water bottle under her arm.

            “Put this on your stomach,” she said, handing Ned the bottle and setting the cup down on the coffee table. “I want to get you into bed so you can rest.”

            “I’m okay,” Ned started, but the combination of alcohol and sugar made his head spin and he blinked, trying to refocus on Chuck’s face over him.

            “Nope. I’m making an executive decision. Bed. Now.”

            Ned sighed and heaved himself to his feet, gripping the top of the couch when the rug threatened to run out from under him. Chuck stepped away not out of discourtesy, but out of self-preservation, and followed Ned into the bedroom with the mug of tea in hand.

            “Hrpmh,” Ned said as he flopped onto his side of the bed, holding the hot water bottle to his aching stomach. “Thank you.”

            “What for?” Chuck asked, busying herself with the covers.

            “Taking care of me. I’m a big baby.”

            “You’re sweet.”

            “Love you,” Ned mumbled into the pillow, and Chuck just smiled and went for the light.


End file.
